


Cursed, No More - ON HIATUS

by Dynamitecoco_puff



Series: Cursed, No More [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Blood, Cameos, Death, F/F, Female Character of Color, Femslash, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Mages and Templars, Origin Story, Original Character(s), Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-13 07:53:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4514010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dynamitecoco_puff/pseuds/Dynamitecoco_puff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <img/>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Desireé Trevelyan carried an arsenal of names: Dezi, Dez, Lady Trevelyan, daughter, sister, and friend. She lived a privileged and wealthy life under the protection of the Maker, until at the age of fifteen when she watched the life drain from her brother’s eyes.  </p><p>  <em>I just wanted my brother back…</em><br/> <br/>Desireé’s magic came alive then, and she let the dead dance one last time.</p><p>Though with newly found magic, new names were spat with venom at her direction:</p><p>  <em>demon - a monster a curse…</em></p><p>Banished to the Ostwick Circle, she was forced to adhere to the strict and claustrophobic ways under the hands of Templars, until she and a group of others fled to join a meeting at the Conclave.</p><p>  <em>The Maker always had his plans…</em></p><p>The explosion. The mark. The sudden position of power. New friends, a lover, and a few more titles underneath her belt.  </p><p><em>Cursed, No More</em> features Desireé Trevelyan: The Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor, and the Savior of Thedas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Desireé Trevelyan

**Author's Note:**

> I'm pretty excited to write this. I haven't written a long term fic in awhile so I'm happy to be back at it again. I hope you enjoy the ride, just as I liked writing it.

I brought my brother back to life. Well, his body, I suppose. His soul belonged to the Fade.  

When it happened I was just a girl of fifteen. Back when my hair tickled my waist. When I wore pretty dresses, and waited patiently for ill-fated suitors who I couldn’t care less about. My mother made me enroll in etiquette classes back then. When she was a young girl, she took classes with the same school, same as my grandmother and her mother before; the life of a Trevelyan woman I suppose. That, or straight to the Chantry.

_Chest out, back straight, and head up. Smile Desireé! Maker. Think dainty, not…brash._

I’d rather be out rolling in the dirt and playing Darkspawns and Wardens. I’ve gotten to a few times, even in one of my new dresses. I had no skills when it came to sword and shield or weapons in general. But Maker, I held my own when it came to fisticuffs. Can you imagine that? A little girl with pigtails, in a dress made of King’s Willow Weave, beating up the boys in her own version of the game? I thought it a brilliant idea to break the dress in. The bodice constricted my movements and I became friends with the ground from continuously tripping on the bottom of the skirt. I ripped the damn thing apart in order to play.

Now, I regret it. Though the tears and dirt gave it character. My mother threw a fit the minute she saw me. Mud and dirt caked into my hair and skin. My lip split and the blood dry along my chin. The epitome of filth I was, like a little peasant child. She tore me a new one after her screams turned into hoarse whispers. My ass still felt the long gone stings of her spankings. I’m lucky she just didn’t make me take my vows then and there.

Hm. What would my mother think if she saw me now? With my scars, short hair, white eyes and,  _magic_. She locked herself in her chambers as they drug me away. I only caught a glimpse of a curtain closing, maybe even a hand. The last time I laid eyes upon my mother…and it was only her hand.

My magic developed after I bled. Most children, especially girls, developed theirs at a  young age before their first blood. I remember overhearing my parents talking about what to do with me, being the youngest. Of course there were talks of me becoming a Woman of the Chantry, but my father ultimately decided to marry me off to some other fuckin’ noble family in the Free Marches; to strengthen the bond between families-peace treaties and whatnot.

Living life trapped in a castle, sewing dresses and birthing babies? Andraste’s tits, i’d never survive that. I’d rather go through the Harrowing again than live that life.

Ah…the Circle of Magi. Fuck the Circle of Magi. Fuck the Templars.  _Fuck the Maker and Andraste too._  They can rot in the Fade, the lot of them.

                              

* * *

 

I open my eyes to the flickering shadows the candles cast on the wall and wipe at the few tears falling from my eyes. My chuckles bounce off the corner of my designated section of the little Chantry.

_Do you even believe in the Maker?_

I didn’t hesitate with my answer when Cassandra asked.

_Yes._

I do.

As much as I wanted to be a non-believer and strip away whatever faith I had left, a sliver of fidelity tugged at my heartstrings. Besides trying to solve mysteries at the bottom of a glass of ale in the tavern, this Chantry became my solace. This Chantry felt like home.

  
“Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls.

From these emerald waters doth life begin anew.

Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you.

In my arms lies Eternity.”

My breath flirts with the candle flames. I blow them out, and stand watching the small wisps of smoke waft through the air before disappearing. I leave my corner and nod to the few who’ve also found a small bit of hope amongst the chaos, and make my way towards the door in the back.

_Demon. A **demon**. A monster. A curse.  
Exiled Trevelyan, the shame of the name._

I freeze. The sing-songy chant people whispered behind my back still haunts me. My heartbeat increases and damn near escapes from my chest. Fuckin’  _Maker_. In order not to collapse, I lean against the nearest wall and close my eyes.

I inhale.

_One._  
Two.  
Three.

And exhale.

_One._  
Two.  
Three.

Inhale.

_One._  
Two.  
Three.

And exhale.

_One._  
Two.  
Three.

I repeat this exercise until my heart regains its normal pattern. I rub the back of my neck and look around, hoping no one noticed. I can’t let them see me in such a weakened state. I’ve already passed out once, I can’t do this again-not in front of these people. I regain my posture and try to focus on the path carved out for me.

At least now I have something to keep me preoccupied. A giant vortex in the sky spewing demons and causing turmoil throughout Thedas, that is. I also have a new title to live up to.

_Herald._

I reach the door and it creaks when I open it. All eyes are on me as I step into the War Room. 


	2. Brother, Raulin Trevelyan (Brother, Part 1)

“Three days until we arrive in Kirkwall,” Raulin said speaking more to the fire crackling in front of us than to me, “I’m glad we’re going on our own, getting a lay of the land by ourselves. This time,  you’ll get the  _real_ Kirkwall experience.”

We made a habit of sneaking out of our home when my brother and I were but children. Though of course, the guards always knew where we were. They understood our games, our need for some sense of adventure and freedom, so they were never too far behind our trail. Our father would have their heads otherwise. We never got far, only played in the trees that still belonged on our property.

Raulin and I were twelve and fourteen when we made our first grand escape. Being the oldest, Raulin took charge. Raulin always took charge, but I never minded. He lead well, and if he were born at a different time he would become the head of the Trevelyan household. That title belonged to Lawrence, the eldest of the three of us.   

In between his fighting lessons, my etiquette lessons, and our communions in the Chantry, the plan took Raulin a week to come up with. We’d steal a couple of horses, and ride towards the coast. With my twelve year old mind I thought it fuckin’ brilliant.

The night of our escape, I took to my chamber, both to look over my parcel bag and to pray. I had a sleeping mat rolled into my pack, along with dried meats and fruits-enough to last two days. I also brought a small candle, a miniature statue of Andraste, and my Hero of Ferelden doll…for luck.

I walked towards my small dresser, the one nearest my bed that I decorated as an altar. Mother suggested I make one in Andraste’s honor. On the wall behind the dresser hung a small painting of our most Holy as a warrior. Her sword raised high in the air and her blonde tresses flowed behind her. My mother wanted me to hang another painting, perhaps the Vision of the Maker. She preferred one more traditional. One the Chantry would approve of. Andraste was also a warrior, she fought on the battlefield and became what we know of her today. This painting was tradition. It was her history after all, one that I paid much more attention to than any of the others. An urn, representing the Sacred Ashes glowed in the candlelight. A small wooden sword lay nearest to the urn, and a red cloth that I placed all of my items tied the altar together.

The pillow beneath me helped cushion my knees on the hard floor. I bowed my head, clasped my hands together, and said a small prayer.

“Then the Maker said:  
To you, my second-born, I grant this gift:  
In your heart shall burn  
An unquenchable flame  
All-consuming, and never satisfied.  
From the Fade I crafted you,  
And to the Fade you shall return  
Each night in dreams  
That you may always remember me.”

_—Canticle of Threnodies 5:7_

After snuffing the candles I hurriedly swung the pack onto my back, struggling with the sudden weight change, and left my room to meet with Raulin. My heart beat like it wanted to escape from my throat. Escaping the halls to the stables wasn’t difficult; I’ve known these guards my whole life. I knew their schedule, I knew their tactics. But Maker I wanted to faint. The adrenaline that shot through my body caused my whole body to tremble. The guards had their backs turned away when I tiptoed across the halls, but my heart skipped a few beats as my teeth trembled. I swore they could hear me.

My brother’s smile sent my nerves away, and I hugged him tightly. He looked at me in mock disgust when he wiped my sweat on his clothes.

“You ready Dez?” He whispered, his eyes scanning the stables and our surroundings, “if you want to back out, now’s the time to say something.”

I sighed, and looked down towards my boots. I twisted one of them in the topsoil, letting it give more character to the rarely worn pair. We wouldn’t be away for too long. Just enough to give us a taste of the outside world on our own. A small break from the overbearing walls of our comfort zone.  

“No, let’s go. We’ve made it this far, right?” I said. He nodded and put a hand on my shoulder, and turned to ready up one of the horses.

I took one of the saddle pads and fastened it onto Wind Breaker, one of my father’s Taslin Striders. He nickered at me, and I softly stroked his nose in return. I secured the rest of the saddle to him, and gently bridled the horse. I gave him a small treat, praising his patience and good manners while I readied him.

My father had a fine collection of horse breeds. I loved taking a walk through the iridescent stables, grooming the horses when the chance came to me. I sang to them often, stringing random notes together in hums and prattle while I brushed their coats.

While I lead him out of the stable a groan came from behind me. I turned and saw my Imperial Warmblood, Ula, stand and peak out from her stall. A beauty she was. The sun always reflected off of her white coat. The way she held her head high and pranced while in the fields she knew of her beauty as well. I loosely tethered Wind Breaker to the nearest pole and fetched two sugar cubes for my Ula, her favorite treat.

I pet the side of her neck as she lipped my palm for the cubes. She nuzzled her wet nose to my cheek.

“Once we return, I’ll take you for a ride. I promise,” I whispered and gave her a small pat. She blew air at me through her nose before kneeling back down on the ground to continue her sleep.

We left the stables and our grounds on foot before we mounted our horses and took off into the night. The wind whipped through my thick black hair, it billowed behind me like a cape.

_Incredible!_

We made it out! Free from Trevelyan property and the suffocating walls of our home. Raulin and I shouted to the sky from the backs of our horses, we rode free and unbothered by the darkness of the night.

It takes five days to travel from Ostwick to Kirkwall on horseback. It only took one day for the guards to catch us on our travel. It took three days for my ass to stop hurting and my knees to stop throbbing from my punishment. Both a spanking and kneeling on my knees with my arms raised for thirty minutes was enough of a punishment for me.

My father discharged most of the guards that kept watch that night. I begged my father to not let go of my personal guard, Thibauld. I’ve known him since I was a child pulling at my mother’s skirts. He played with me, and never complained when I put flowers in his beard. He tolerated me when I had my outbursts, and kept my secrets. Thibauld even kept the flower I gave him when I confessed my feelings for him.

_Ah, my Lady Trevelyan…_

Thibauld would say in his Orlesian accent. He took a knee, smiled gently, and told me he couldn’t accept my love for I was far too young. I remember his scrunched face when he tried not to laugh at my dissapointment. He promised to keep the flower, and met me later for tea. My father let him keep his position, but lowered his pay for a year.

A year passed by before Raulin and I could even step foot outside of these walls. Our schedules were packed with lessons, Chantry sermons, chores, anything to keep us busy. I didn’t mind the smell of the horse stables after the year.

Three years pass after that, and Raulin and I were finally on our own, journeying to Kirkwall.

I closed my eyes and let the warmth of our campfire shadow my face. The smell of cooked Nug wafts into my nose and I can just taste the smokiness of the meat. I’ve never eaten nug, I never needed to. Normally, I wouldn’t dare eat such a common creature, but the rumbles emitting from my stomach and my saliva suggested otherwise.

“Are they done yet?” I asked, desperate for anything to satisfy my hunger.

Raulin removed his stick from the fire and inspected his nug. He noted the slight char of its skin, but tore a small portion from the animal to reveal a beige coloring. Raulin threw the portion into his mouth. His eyes moved from the upper right to the left, his chews were overdramatic. After he swallowed he took another bite.

“Ready!” He muffled with his mouth full, “but it’s hot!”

We ate in silence. The meat was light and gamey, the skin had a slight crunch to it. Maybe in a stew the nug would taste better, perhaps over some type of grain.

“I still can’t believe the guards haven’t caught us yet. Remember the first time we tried to leave? The next  _day_ they found us! It’s a bit suspicious, yeah? Thibauld would’ve stopped me right away.” I threw my manners away. Bits of meat and saliva clung on and around my mouth and I spoke while I chewed. Desireé Trevelyan: prim and proper with perfect posture, who giggled with a hand over her mouth, who walked with the grace of an Empress, left the moment I mounted my horse. Around my brother and those I held close, I was Dezi, or Dez. Though my hand stitching skills came in handy when we needed quick fixes.

I looked to Raulin. He stayed silent, focusing on his nug with such intensity as if he were on the battlefield eating his enemies.

“Raulin?”

Hesitantly he looked in my direction and swallowed what looked like the last bites of nug, yet his eyes were wide with nervousness.

“Well…I  _may_ have left a note, or several, at home for people to find,” he said.

I squinted at him. I ripped off the last piece of my meat and threw the bones at him. He tilted his head, dodging them easily, which made me even angrier.

“Andraste’s flaming fuckin’ ass, are you kidding me Raulin?! We’ve spent  _how_ many hours coming up with this plan and you blow it all to the damn Fade??”

Raulin winced at my screeches and held up his hands in front of him, “Look, Dez, I’m a man grown now. I can’t just sneak off and runaway from home anymore. I’m to be Champion one day. Not only do I need to be a good example of our city, I need to be a good example for  _you_.”

I knew he was right. We were only two years apart but already he held his head high and proud; a leader he was born to be. Whenever I looked at him, I kept seeing the boy with his rounded cheeks, dirt in his hair, and tears forever in his eyes-Lawrence dubbed him the sensitive one. Now his face had more angles, sharper points, and stubble, his eyes hardened and his hands calloused and rough. He turned 17 not long ago, and I never really noticed.

I sighed, and came to sit next to me with the bones I threw. My head automatically found his shoulder.

“You’re right…I guess I just miss the way things used to be, y’know? But, at least if something were to happen, they’d know where to find us.” I said, taking a bone. I wiped the bone clean with my tunic and started gnawing at it, getting to the bone marrow, another of our secrets, “mother would cry if she saw us now. Hunting, skinning, and cooking nugs and sucking out the marrow. Maker, she would have my head!”

We laughed together, and thought of our mother pacing back and forth back at home. Probably urging father to send ravens and a few guards to have our backs. We mimicked her and father’s banter, putting on our own theatrical piece.

We put out our campfire, and retreated into our tent, finally letting sleep defeat us.

Just a few hours later, a flaming arrow pierced through our tent, setting it ablaze.


	3. Forgiveness and Similarities - Onward to Kirkwall (Brother, Part 2)

Four thieves came across our tent, and Raulin left only one alive. After we hurried out of our flaming tent in a fit of coughs and parts of our clothes burnt, they stood there waiting with their arms crossed and menacing glints in their eyes.

Immediately Raulin unsheathed his greatsword,  _Champion’s Valor_ , from its scabbard. The pommel was shaped like a diamond, but made of obsidian and was black and smooth as an inkwell. The hilt of the sword - custom ribbed for Raulin’s hand, was a deep rich red, and the sword guard - dipped in gold and curved with pointed ends. The iron sword shined in the night, and had our motto “Modest in temper, bold in deed” etched  into the blade.

The thieves awed at it, how could they not? The coin flashed in their eyes, and I saw their mouths salivate; this sword could fetch them a hefty sum, and they knew it.

I’ve been in my fair share of fights with the boys in our town, but these were men. Grown men with permanent scowls and scars, stench like the blight itself. Their grins showed me barely-there teeth, and the way their eyes lit up when they looked at me sent shivers down my body. Their laughs made my hair stand on end and I squeezed my thighs together in order not to soil myself. They laughed even harder when I hid behind my brother.

I watched them unsheathe their rusty blades, and Raulin made sure I stayed behind him. He stepped closer to them, stalking them like prey even though he was the odd man out. They thought this fight would be easy, I can see it in their relaxed stances, though they didn’t stand a chance.

Raulin snarled and roared when he charged at them, and his  _Champion’s Valor_ sliced through their muscles with ease. He moved with such ferocity, a true Trevelyan Lion. His sword as great as it was, looked like it weighed nothing as he striked.

As soon as one of the bodies hit the ground, my vision blurred and my chest felt like someone sat on top of it. I felt so…so weak I…I don’t know what-

_I can’t…_

_I-_

And then, darkness.

* * *

When I came to, my world smelt of coin, and a bit of the Earth. The pungent smell of metal mixed with wet soil thickened my nostrils and throat. I looked down at my ever trembling hands. Save the crumbles of dirt and grass, they were clear of what I smelled.

I looked over to the left, and immediately vomited the charred nug onto the ground. I emptied the pits of my stomach until I became nothing but a dry heaving mess.

I sat there like stone. I couldn’t move, I didn’t  _dare_. I only sat, trembling uncontrollably, staring at horror at the carnage before me. I always thought about what it’d be like, real battle: swords and magic, blood, and blight. But this…

 **Bodies**. Dead bodies. Blood, limbs, hair and lumps of who-knows-what. The flies took to them quickly. Two of them had their eyes opened, faces frozen for eternity, and they were looking right at me. My heartbeat accelerated, wanting to escape,  _needing_ to flee from this image.

I spat up bile, and whatever was left from my stomach on to the ground, and I choked out a sob.

No… _no_! Maker this…this was supposed to be an adventure! Raulin and I on our horses, riding and camping towards Kirkwall. We were-

Maker have mercy.

 _Raulin_. Where was Raulin?

I scrambled to my feet and looked around, clutching at my shirt. I only relaxed when I saw him standing several yards away. His back was turned to me, but he seemed okay. At least he wasn’t dead.

My legs were heavy like sacks of grain when I walked closer to him. I opened my mouth to say something, anything that came to mind, but I froze at the sound of another’s voice.

“Do it,  _boy_ ,” I heard the thief hiss through clenched teeth.  

His chest heaved quickly and the movement was restricted thanks to the pressure of Raulin’s boot on his chest. The thief looked from the tip of Champion’s Valor up to Raulin’s hardened eyes, and squinted his eyes at him.

Andraste’s flaming sword…

“Please…” I manage to whisper. I reached a hand closer to Raulin’s sword arm, and I felt him tense under my touch.

I knew he heard me, for his facial expression flickered; I saw a hint of softness return to his eyes.

Raulin lifted his boot from the man’s chest and backed away, but he kept his sword pointed at the man’s throat. The thief let out a hefty breath, happy to breathe again.

Raulin eyed the man’s movements, “Consider yourself lucky. Now leave, before I change my mind.”

The thief grunted out a laugh. His laugh sounded more like he needed to hack up mucus from the back of his throat.

“That’s a good boy, listen to your sister lad,” he smirked and winked at me.

The coldness returned to Raulin’s eyes. Never had I seen him look this way before. It gave me shivers. The pools of Raulin’s dark brown eyes looked black, his eye brows deepened his frown. His lips were pursed, and he didn’t blink. It felt like Raulin was staring into the empty space where the man’s soul should’ve been. This version of Raulin, it wasn’t like him at all. I was looking at a carbon clone of our father.

“Leave, before you join your friends. I’d rather not waste my time, but I’ll gladly add another kill to my list.”

The shivers rolled this time, accompanied with goosebumps. His voice was calm and quiet, and that’s what frightened me. The thief swallowed his next string of words, and I knew he felt the hatred radiating from Raulin’s body.

The thief got to his feet and wiped the blood from his mouth before turning, and limping away.

The still night came alive again with a gentle breeze. Everything around us seemed to breathe together, like a relieved sigh.

Raulin sheathed his sword, his expression finally softened when he looked at me.

“Dezi I - are you alright?” He felt my head, and checked for any scratches and wounds. He double checked and nodded when he was sure there wasn’t anything to find.

“Maker I am so sorry. You aren’t…I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he rested his hands on my shoulders. His eyes widened and before I could blink myself, his tears accompanied the blood on his face.

“Raulin, I’m fine, I-…I was afraid but I’m fine now,  _really_ ,” I searched for more to say but nothing came to me. I wiped at his tears, but accidentally smeared the blood on his face.

Raulin chuckled bitterly, “Desireé the Brave. You must think of me a monster. Do you think…do you think The Maker and Andraste will forgive me? Will  _you_ forgive me?”

My lips curved into a sympathetic smile. My brother, the sensitive one. But he was a protector,  _my_  protector.

“You aren’t a monster, and Maker, of course I’ll forgive you! I always will, and They will too.”

“Pray for me?” He bowed his head and chewed at his dry lips, “Canticle of Benedictions, 4:10-11 please.

We joined hands, and I too bowed my head. I relaxed myself, trying to calm my jitters as the verse poured from my lips:

“Blessed are they who stand before  
The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.  
Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.  
Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow.  
In their blood the Maker’s will is written.”

“Okay,” he breathed, “Our horses, or even their horses may still be down by the river. I’ll search these bodies, and then we’ll ride to Kirkwall.”

I nodded in agreement before my brain processed his words.

“Wait…search them?” I yelled. He patiently waited until my face unscrewed from imagining the disgusting image.

“Yes. I’m looking for coin, or anything worth any value. It’ll be useful for us after we arrive,” he stated.

“But-”

“Trust me, Dezi. You’ll see. Now go and ready the horses,  _please._ ” 

I caught the strain in his voice, maybe Raulin was as shaken up as I? Maybe worse? I wanted to ask him, but I figured it’d be best if he talked it over with father…they were a great deal more alike than I thought.


	4. The Real Kirkwall Experience (Brother, Part 3)

"Maker’s breath…”

Our collective gasp added to the buzzings of background chatter in the courtyard. The Kirkwall Chantry towered above us, guarded by two mountainous golden Templar statues. In front of us stood the Chanter’s Board etched in stone, illuminated by a small lantern hidden behind a replica of Andraste’s Sword. Bounties and quests for adventurers were placed upon the stone, and one Chanter stood nearby, reciting lines from the _Chant of Light_  to the most recent person before placing a few coins in his palm.

My breath caught in my throat when I tried to take it all in. My heart raced inside of my chest, and I felt perspiration underneath my arms, and yet I wanted to explore it all. I wanted to feel the power of the Maker as I walked through it.

I looked towards Raulin, donned in a light armor tunic the shade of the darkest green, with  _Champion’s Valor_  sheathed at his side. He looked the part of a true warrior, a true future Champion. He was very oblivious to the women around us, giggling behind their hands and pointing towards him. I pointed them out to him, and caught his lopsided grin that made them giggle even further.

I looked down at my own regular, non-battle tunic, a dark reddish-purple like the color of my mother’s favorite wine. The sleeves were long and shielded my arms against the cool breezes, and my slip on shoes were like walking amongst clouds. It felt comforting being back in fine, clean clothes. Camping was fun, yet I hated the dirt beneath my fingernails, and my body odor was something else entirely. It did take the maids a while before brushing the kinks out of my hair, and now it lay tame. No one looked my way, but I didn’t mind.

It didn’t take long to get accustomed to our stay. Thanks to Raulin’s letters they had planned for our arrival. We stayed at the Viscount’s Keep, a rival to the massiveness of the Chantry. We shared a room, though the space was enormous; it felt like we each had our own wing.

I bobbed quickly up and down on the balls of my feet and looked at Raulin with my saucer-wide eyes, “Can we-”

“Of course!” He exclaimed, but before I could let out a triumphant sort of noise he stopped me, “but later, D.”

I slumped and let out a groan. The Chanter looked at me disapprovingly, and I immediately straightened my posture, but I turned my head away to huff air out of my nose.  

Raulin sighed, then shook his head with a smirk, “It will always be here. I want to bring you ‘round  the shops first! Then I want to show you another side of Kirkwall.”

“Okay, fine. But  _then_ we go inside!” 

Shopping? The Chantry could wait, but I continued to steal glances at it while Raulin led the way.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_Oh, Sweet Andraste!_

The sun reflected off of the vibrant colored jewels that lay upon each and every market table. Robes, weapons, armor, and all the trinkets I could buy beckoned. I wanted to lose myself between the stalls and the fabric that billowed in the winds.

We spent only what seemed like minutes in Hightown. We ate salted fish, bought useless trinkets and gifts for our family; I specifically bought Thibauld a pocket watch made of everite. Then while Raulin looked at weapons, I tried on gown after gown until I hated the feel of silk on my body.

I loved Kirkwall!  I wanted to live here, this could be a second home to me, maybe in the future. Maker, I’d marry one of the Templars. I’d open a shop just like one of these places and sell fabric and clothes. We’d marry, then have children, probably three - two boys and a girl. Every night we’d pick a passage from the  _Chant of Light_  and recite it before tucking them into bed.

My cheeks began to throb from my smiling. Mother would get a kick out of hearing me speak of this. She’d go off and find a Templar recruit this instant and thank Andraste for the change of my ways. We left our satchels full of goods with the servants so they may return them to our room, and I looked at Raulin, willing him to finally take me to the Chantry.

He laughed and said, “We’ll head to the Chantry soon, I promise! But first, Lowtown. I have a friend there that I need to give some coin to, and there are shops down there as well.”

The dull ache in the arches of my feet warned me not to go on for too long, but I was an adventurer now, I’d manage for the time being. When we reached the end of the stairway, and rounded a corner, the stench of Lowtown hit me first. It smelt of warm sewage waste mixed with a hint of garbage. It suffocated my nose, and the aroma brought me back to the field amongst the corpses.

I brought my sleeve to cover up my nose and the foul taste of the air, “What is -  _this_ is Kirkwall too?” I asked. I didn’t bother with hiding the disgust in my voice.

Everything was coated in a dirty brown dust. It swept the floors and littered every surface. Instead of highbrow banter I heard the caw of crows, groans of pain, and drunken laughter. The stone buildings birthed cracks and rubble, and wooden scaffolding shoddily replaced walls.

I clipped Raulin’s achilles a few times with my toes, I wanted to stay as close as possible to him in this place.

“It’s okay, just stay close to me and we’ll be fine,” Raulin murmured, always on guard. We left footprints in the dusty streets of Lowtown as we made our way.

I thought we were heading to his friend’s house. But as we continued down a sidestreet, I noticed a few ill folk leaning against walls, trying not to fall prey to their sickness. I heard the coughs - all in different pitches and the groans emitting from the depths of their throats.

And when I strained my eyes while looking towards the back, I saw a blond man kneeling over someone lying on the ground. His hands roamed over the person’s body and a greenish-white haze of light illuminated them.  _Is that?_

Magic. What I saw, was magic. Suddenly I felt cold, the rush of a winter chill about my body. I wrapped my arms around myself in a hug.

“Raulin,” I said in a hushed tone, but he didn’t hear me, he too was focused on the power before us.

After the light vanished from the mage’s palms, he slowly helped the woman sit up and a helper brought her a sac of water. He left her with the helper, and looked up to meet Raulin’s gaze.

The mage smiled and automatically I took a few steps behind Raulin when we walked towards us.

“Anders,” Raulin smirked and held out his arm. The mage, ‘Anders’, took hold of Raulin’s arm with his hand.

“Raulin! It’s been awhile my friend,” the mage said, “and you are?” He turned to me, with a twinkle in his eyes.

I didn’t like the mage’s eyes. They were too light for his face and I felt like there was something off about them. But mother taught me never to be rude. My nervousness warded off a smile that could have been bigger on my face, but a small one fit the situation better, I thought.

My hand felt weighted as I lifted to shake his, “Dezi. I’m Raulin’s sister...ser.”

Raulin and Anders both snickered at the ‘ser’ and he took my hand in his. His hands were warm - comfortably warm. I didn’t know what to expect, touching a mage. I didn’t burst into flames nor did he turn into an Abomination. His smile, like his hands were pleasant.

I stepped back to give Raulin and Anders a bit of privacy, and while they spoke I walked around the infirmary, helped out as much as I could. I brought water to an older woman, and lifted the sac to her lips. Tears welled in my eyes, though they did nothing here. I supported her back as she lay down, and I rested her head upon my lap.

Her smile was what finally made me cry. She patted my hand with her withered fingers like my own grandmother would do, and she nodded at me.  A smile graced her lips; like she knew it was her time. I began to hum after she closed her eyes. The same lament I’ve heard numerous amount of times at funerals. I swayed leisurely from side to side, caressing the woman’s head as my humming carried me away. I continued to hum after she let out a single breath, and my tune softened and slowed as she at last met with Andraste.

I felt a presence behind me, and looked over my shoulder and saw Anders and Raulin. Anders held a coin pouch in his palm, the same coin pouch I saw Raulin take from a dead thief. Raulin gaped at me, while Anders moved to cover the woman’s body with a sheet. I wiped at my tear stained face, ignoring the coldness of my wet sleeves on my wrists. We said our goodbye to his friend, and we finally left the heavy weight of the Darktown Infirmary.

“He was...nice,” I whispered.

“Yeah Anders is -”

“For a mage,” I continued, “I bet father knows nothing of this.”

Raulin’s sigh gave me my answer, I snorted out my response.

On our walk back through Lowtown, we were met with a scantily clad woman with her back against the wall, and a man who had his face buried in the crook of her neck and his hand between her legs. Her heavy breathing and the sounds she made reminded me of the girls Lawrence would bring home at night, when he thought everyone was asleep. Raulin paused, and quickly turned me away from the scene.

“What’s he...hey that flower over on the wall looks a bit lewd, don’t you agree? It sort of looks like a-”

I yelped when he pinched my arm. He dragged me away from what I later found out was a brothel, and what greeted me instead was a vendor with handmade dolls on her wooden makeshift table.

I spotted a beautifully sewn Mabari doll, and Raulin handed the vendor a few gold coins before I could reach into my tunic. My warden doll would be happy to have a dog beside her on my shelf.

“Look, Dezi,” he gripped a heavy hand on my shoulder, and took the Mabari from my hands so I could give him my attention instead, “what we know - what we  _think_ we know about mages, is wrong.”

“But-”

He held up a hand, “Yes, mages can be frightful, they’re vulnerable to demon possession, but they’re still _people_ , Dez, just as you and me. The one you saw? Anders? He helps people, he heals them. He’s a good man - through and through.”

“So then why isn’t he living in Hightown? If he’s a healer, they will accept that. He should be able to heal everyone out in the open, not in that dingy excuse for an infirmary.”

A ball collided with my ankle, and I kicked it back to the screaming group of children. A sudden panging in my chest joined in my heartbeat. None of the children wore shoes.

“Because Kirkwall is,” he paused, chewed on his words, “Kirkwall is strict when it comes to magic. Mages aren’t free to do as they please. As much as they should be, they can’t...it’s complicated.”

 _Understandable._  I thought.  _The Circles keep our people safe, and keep the mages where they need to be - under watch by the Templars. Under Andraste’s Eyes. But...what of the good ones? Do they deserve to be locked away too?_

I sighed and rubbed at my temples. My feet ached and my back throbbed, I wanted to visit the Chantry and then rest, “Maker’s breath, Raulin! I hope father, or even Lawrence never hear what’s spewing from your mouth. But, I believe you. I believe there are good mages out there, now that I saw your friend. Maybe when you’re Champion you can help them?”

“I hope to. It’s another goal on my list,” he wiped the sweat from his forehead and squinted at the sun. We both needed a bath, the weather was sweltering, and in this area it felt even worse. I was desperate to wash the smell and grime from my hair.

“To the Chantry then?” He smirked at my sudden excitement; I used almost the last bit of energy for it. I needed to save the rest for Andraste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being 12 pages long, so I had to split it...again. Everything escalates from here :)


	5. Some May Live and Some May Die (Brother, End)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _Shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword._

The alleyway we walked down was silent save for the pitter-patter of our footsteps and the crows calling to one another. Silent, save for the soft flaps of the tattered tapestries flowing above us. Raulin’s back straightened and I saw the muscles aligning his jaw throb as he clenched and unclenched it. He stopped walking, and signaled me to remain quiet. I looked around us and the crippling feeling of paranoia crept up my spine.

“We’re being followed,” he whispered. He ushered me forward, looking behind us as we rushed through the streets.

But that may have been the magic words, for a small group of men cut us off, and when we turned to run the other way three more of them appeared. My eyes couldn’t grow any wider, and I clutched at Raulin’s arm.

The group stood tall, short, fat, scrawny, all were dirty just like the thieves who tried to rob us a few days ago.

“Ye should’ve fuckin’ killed me when y’had the chance  _boy_ ,” the thief who ambushed us limped through the bunch, and smirked at us with more gaps in his teeth than before.

“Blight take us all,” I whimpered, and I heard their collective snickers.

“This them, Rex?” The one in the front asked. He was short, gruff and burly. He held an axe in one hand, with the other he scratched at his beard. I’d never seen a dwarf up close before, I was afraid it’d be my last.

“Aye, Thoric, this be the cunt and little shit who killed Grum and Bellas that night,” Rex spoke, and flinched at the look Raulin shot him.

Raulin’s lip curled and he turned towards me. He removed a beautiful, gold-encrusted dagger from the belt of his tunic.This type of blade was meant to be seen on a mantle, not to be used. He took my hand and shoved the sheathed weapon at it.

He leaned in towards me, his eyes hard and focused, “You know what to do, Desireé. If any of them get close to you,  _use_ it. Do you understand me?” His tone was low and urgent, and he pleaded with his eyes.

I nodded. Frantically I nodded, “Y-yes…I understand. I can do it.”

He kissed my forehead, satisfied. He turned back to the ring of thieves, and shoved me behind him. _Champion’s Valor_  gleamed in the setting sun, and he held it in his hands. Raulin roughly lifted his head and snapped it back and forth, cracking his neck. He took in a breath and rolled his shoulders back, his stance strong and bold.

“Come!” He barked, and they set upon him.

One of the thieves jumped from his left with a sword in hand. Raulin blocked the attack with his arm. The blade cut through the light armor of his sleeve, and he hissed at the sting of the slice. He swung  _Champion’s Valor_ , gutting him like the little nug we ate at camp. I couldn’t _not_ look away, I needed to be on my guard, I needed to be brave. Yet I stood petrified, the dagger in my hand trembling.

_Please Maker, hear my plea…_

Immediately another thief jumped over the fallen, but Raulin stood ready, he was calm. He shoulder charged the thief, knocking the wind from him, and ran him through with the front half of Champion’s Valor’s blade.

The five remaining thieves looked at each other, fear taking hold of their bodies. Raulin took a quick look back at me. I pressed my lips together and gave a small nod.

“Fuckin’ brat…” the dwarf, Thoric, murmured and he spat mucus onto the ground, adding to the Lowtown grime, “ _Kill him_!”

Two of them charged. Raulin hit one with the blunt of his sword but it wasn’t enough to slow him. The other kicked the back of Raulin’s knee, causing him to crash down on the other. He clenched his teeth against the pain, a grunt escaping his mouth. Rex connected his fist with Raulin’s jaw and spittle, teeth, and blood spewed from his mouth. Before my brother could fall, he dropped his sword and he caught himself with his hands. The thieves swiftly kicked Raulin in his stomach, and he doubled over onto the ground. One of them managed to stab Raulin the back, he twisted the weapon into his flesh, and I didn’t think that would ever heal. Meanwhile Rex had his fun beating Raulin with his fists. Raulin fought, Maker he wouldn’t give in, but I couldn’t take it any longer.

“ _RAULIN_!” My shriek pierced through the air. I tore through my fear, ripping it to shreds when I ran to the group, dagger unsheathed. I reached one of the thieves and lodged the blade into his waist with a scream. He howled, and a blur caught my cheek, knocking me to the ground.

“Fuckin’  _whore_!” He snarled, and stalked towards me.

With an opening, Raulin quickly snatched the blade from the other thief’s hand and struggled to his feet. Before the thief could utter a word, Raulin brought the blade upwards, and slashed his throat. His blood spilt with a chaotic grace, bubbling as the man grabbed at his throat, gurgling inhumanly.

I tasted the blood in my own mouth and a sob caught at my throat, the only sound coming from me an array of wails.

_It hurts…Andraste please! It hurts!_

“Ah!” The other thief grabbed at my hair, a fistful pulling at my scalp. I could feel multiple strands of hair ripping in his grasp.

“Let. Her.  **Go** ,” The words came deep from Raulin’s throat, a rumble from the depths of the Lion’s belly. Blood dribbled from his busted lips, and he spat on one of the corpses.

The man snickered behind me and then I felt the cool caress of a blade on my skin. I recoiled at the sudden prick of the tip and I whimpered, squeezing my eyes shut. Drool pooled out of my mouth as I cried. Warmth dripped down my legs, soiling my breeches. My body shook along with my wails.

“Pl.. _please_!  _Raulin_!” My eyes burned and I couldn’t see from them when I tried opening my eyes. Everything was a blur, Raulin a watered down version of himself, Champion’s Valor nothing but a garbled image in his hands.

My attacker yanked my head back, pressing the blade harder against my neck, “Your move big brother,” he sang mockingly.

“Blight fucking take you…don’t you dare,” Raulin looked straight at me and slightly nodded.  _It’ll be okay, Dez. I’m right here. You’re going to be alright._ Even with a bloodied face, one eye swollen shut, and bleeding out he said those words to me with his expressions, repeating them to me.

“Now…that’s no way to talk to someone with the little whore’s life in my hands. Drop yer fuckin’ sword!” I flinched at the volume of his voice and he pressed the blade harder against me.

“Okay! Okay just…please. I’ll do as you say,” Raulin held up his hands, and slowly squatted to lay down his sword. He kicked it away with his good leg and stood straight, “See? Now please,” He raised his arm, palm up and made a step towards us. His steps wavered and I was sure he would fall down dead before he reached me.

Suddenly my face met with the ground, and I heard the crunch of cartilage in my nose before the pain exploded throughout my face. My gasp sounded like a dying rodent, for my throat was too raw to produce any intelligible noises. My nose bled profusely and I rolled onto my back, crying to the sky, to the Maker, to  _anyone_ that might hear me.

_I want to go home._

_I want to go home._

_I want to go home…_

_I-_

“Desireé!” Raulin limped towards me and I barely heard him yell my name, “Desir-!” Raulin fell to both his knees. An arrow lodged into his back, adjacent from the stab wound.

My eyes snapped back open and I stared in horror at my brother. His face contorted with pain and shock. The arrow didn’t go clean through, yet he looked down at himself, at bloodied hands. And then he looked back into my own bloodied face. He bit his lip, grimacing, and he let tears fall from his eyes.

 _No. Oh no, no, no, Maker no!_  I crawled towards him, everything in my body ached and begged for me to stop. I ignored the laughter from the bastards in the background, and my brother and I slowly tried to come closer together.

_Thwack!_

Raulin cried out in pain when another arrow pierced his skin, this time his shoulder. His crying grew louder as well, he stripped the last strands of the warrior to become the Raulin I knew and understood. Raulin the sensitive, Raulin the protector.

We staggered like hunted Hallas, dying for their last grip of life. When we reached each other, Raulin jerked forward, another perforated arrow in his back at the spine.

“Dez…” He whispered. We settled on the ground, lying on our sides next to each other and I stroked his head with one hand, graceful and calm as I could make it, but my whole body continued to shake. His eyes were closed, and I came to realize that this was the end of Raulin’s journey.

My tears splattered down onto his bloodied face, and his tears dripped down his cheeks, mixing with mine. He took my hand in his, squeezing with the bit of strength he could muster. He smiled through his wounds, but I didn’t smile back. I couldn’t.

“O’make…” he sighed, his breathing was heavy, “O Maker hear m…my cry.”

The rest of the thieves stalked closer, coming to surround their prey, to make the final kill of the hunt. To maim us and stick our heads above their mantle.

I shook my head at Raulin, tried to get him to conserve his strength, but we both knew it was too late for that, too late for saving. I whispered to him, creating an image of us back at home with our family.

“Seat me by your side in…your side in death,” He continued his prayer. He opened his eyes to look at me, and closed them in painfully slow blinks. I knew that he tried to remain focused on my voice, by the way he frowned.

_We threw snowballs at each other - Raulin, Lawrence, and I. The holidays arrived and we enjoyed strolling through the grounds, our steps crunching the snow beneath us. We sipped the hot chocolate our mother made, chewed delightfully on the marshmallows and enjoyed the light snowfall._

“Make,” His words but a soft breath of air, and his eyes unfocused and stared at nothing up at the sky, “Make me one within Your glory…”

“And let the world once more see Your favor,” I finished the line for him, and touched his lids with my fingers, closing his eyes at last. With Andraste he would be, and the Maker would watch over him.

And so I broke, and then everything went black.

* * *

_For You are the fire at the heart of the world_

_And comfort is only Yours to give._

_-Transfigurations 12:1-12:6_

* * *

_I brought my brother back to life. Well, his body, I suppose. His soul belonged to the Fade._

The only thing I remember, was his body, dead only for mere minutes rose along with the other few corpses that decorated the alleyway. They were enveloped in a purple and black aura, eyes blazing a hazed green in their sockets. They didn’t move, unless I commanded them to.

I don’t remember standing, nor even moving, but with just a glance I instilled the power of Fear itself into the remaining thieves’ souls. They stood paralyzed and experienced the horror I cast upon them.

Raulin stalked towards their Dwarven leader and flawlessly executed him, his head sundered from the rest of his body, eyes still twitching. Their shrieks and howls sung to my soul, striking the chords within me.

The other living dead didn’t waste time killing, no,  _massacring_ the remaining thieves, and I laughed at their deaths, laughed at their own people killing one another.

“Maker’s breath!”

I swung around, drunk on death and emptiness to find myself facing a troop of Templars. They looked at me and my surroundings with a combination of disgust and fright and immediately drew their weapons.

I wanted them all dead.

I wanted to go home.

I wanted Raulin and I, to _go home_.

I raised my arm and pointed a finger at the Templar in front, his glare piercing my gaze. I demanded Raulin to attack, but only silence followed me.

“What?!”

My spirits were gone. My brother’s body lay on the ground stiff in slumber, but his soul vanished in thin air. I slid to my knees and clutched my hair into my fists. My voice was only raw croaks and heaving.

_No! What was happening??_

I am so tired…please…

“Throw the mage in the gallows! Find out who in the hell she is, and then bring her to me,” A voice commanded from nearby, but everything and everyone seemed distant and foggy as if I were dreaming.

_Mage…? Anders is here…he can save us…_

Two Templars hoisted me to my feet and half walked and half dragged me onwards. People around me buzzed like flies and pointed at me. My head hung down, my straggles of hair shielding my face. The dull sense of pain was back in full force. Everything ached and throbbed and snapped me back into whatever lay before me.

“No! No wait!!” I shouted, trying to twist out of the iron grips of Templar hands, “My brother’s back there! Raulin! Raulin!!”

_Raulin…_

* * *

_The Light shall lead her safely_

_Through the paths of this world, and into the next._

_For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water._

_As the moth sees light and goes toward flame,_

_She should see fire and go towards Light._

_The Veil holds no uncertainty for her,_

_And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker_

_Shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword._

_—Transfigurations 10:1_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hit me with some comments folks :)


	6. Demon, a Demon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of a drabble, than a whole chapter. But I wanted to add it anyway. This takes place seven days after "Some May Live and Some May Die."

_“From where do you come?!” This was the fourth Templar to question her within five days.  
_

_Spittle speckles onto her face, the Templar snarls like a rabid animal. This one hits her too - less patient than the others. He rips his fingers through her hair sans mercy, yanking her head this way and that. Her neck grows tired, so she doesn’t fight it anymore._

_“Once my father arrives, you’ll-!” She screams and she falls when he backhands her, his heavy hand like the slap she received from that thief not long ago.  
_

_She shut up then, and scurries into the corner of the cold, dark, and piss-stained cell. She suckles her lip, tastes the tangy warmness of her blood, swallows the bits of chewed up skin._

_“Fucking mages,” The Templar’s voice is steel, yet his breathing is hard. He needs a break from interrogating her, “drink.” He takes the bowl sitting on the ground outside of the cell and slides it across to her, sloshing most of the water out like crashing waves.  
_

_She crawls to it, desperate to moisturize her dry mouth, bring life back to her parched throat. But as she lifts the bowl to her face she catches the ripples of her reflection. It was too dark to see but her eyes, Oh Maker her eyes…_

_They aren’t the swirls of the darkest browns any longer, they’re white - a silver glint against the night like the moon._

_They startle her, she jumps back and drops the bowl. The water splashes out of it, the bowl now nothing but a slick decoration._

_Her hands tremble infront of her and she brings them up to cover her face, and rocks herself while she sits._

_The Templar chuckles at her, “Yeah, you’re a fucking freak,” and when he walks towards the bowl, terror strikes him, it takes sips of his mind._

_'Horror', she casts, but doesn’t yet understand or know its name, but it finally comes back to her. She just needed to rest._

_“Bring. Me. More._ **Water** _.” She breathes, piercing him with those light eyes._

_He almost obeys, but she feels a sudden absorption, a violent sucking of her power and she’s thrown back against the wall, a sharp yelp explodes from her mouth. He smites her, and shakes his head._

_“You silly fuckin’ bitch. You’re power is_ nothing _compared to mine,” he says while slowly clenching and unclenching his fists, “I’ll take pleasure in watching you become Tranquil.”_

_She tenses and squeezes her eyes shut, braces for the blow._

_“_ HALT! _” A voice commands, and her head snaps up to greet her father who stands near the cell.  
_

_She stands, her legs wobbly beneath her when she runs and collapses into her father’s arms. She smiles up at him, bloodied lips and all, and opens her mouth to express her joy. But her smile fades._

_He looks at her with a mix of hurt and sadness, fear and disgust._

_He looks at his daughter, but only sees a demon._


End file.
